


Honeydew

by Aladayle



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, And also that one Venom fic in my bookmarks, Bittersweet Ending, Dementia, Heavily inspired by J Bernlefs Out Of Mind, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wrote this in like 3 hours, Multi, Sad Ending, Seriously a good book, Terminal Lucidity, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladayle/pseuds/Aladayle
Summary: Bojack's drug use and familial history catch up to him one last time. Mr. Peanutbutter and all the people who have been close to him come in and out as he unravels and finally comes apart.
Relationships: BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Honeydew

**Author's Note:**

> I am still attempting a longer version of that other Bojack fic I did, because I like happy endings. But in the meantime, have this morbidness.

It starts small. 

Bojack has been out of prison for several years now, and has kept busy. Kept himself in check, thanks to the nagging of Mr. Peanutbutter. He's gotten a job at the rehab center, trying to pull addicts out of the same hole he's been in for so long...it's the only work he can get anymore anyway, he tells himself on his bad days. ( _It's the only work you're good for_ ) 

"Where's the honeydew?" 

"Honeydew?" Mr. Peanutbutter looks up from the table. "You ate the last of it at breakfast." 

Honeydew, he thinks. I was just looking at a tray of it, literally just a minute ago. I swear it was just a minute ago. 

"But we're eating breakfast now. Come on, don't make jokes like that." 

"Bojack..." Mr. Peanutbutter's tone is slow, and Bojack thinks he sounds accusatory. "...breakfast was six hours ago." 

There's a stab of fear, but he shakes it off. He slept wrong, it's natural to not quite feel yourself if you didn't sleep well. 

Honeydew. 

He sits back down at the table, and looks at the newspaper. Mr. Peanutbutter says he likes reading the paper to help keep the industry alive, and also to have the feeling that he's educating himself. You don't _quite_ get the same feeling reading things online, even if you are technically learning more. A feeling, that's all. Nothing more. 

Bojack goes to work and does his usual spiel with a new group of addicts that evening. One of them looks like Sarah Lynn, and there's a stab then too, a feeling of...something...that he tries to brush off but can't. She was still young, he thinks. He didn't really _give_ her the drug, but it was in his car and she took it and it's still his fault. He tells them there is something beyond the drug, and one of the addicts says I know, I've done it three times. I just always relapse because of shitty circumstances. 

_I know the feeling_ , Bojack thinks. What's the point of staying sober if there's no reason to do it? But he has to stay sober; Mr. Peanutbutter made a habit of searching his room when he got out of prison, and even though he doesn't do it anymore Bojack has the annoying feeling that if he ever brought drugs home they'd be found immediately. Anytime he even thinks of doing something you'd call bad it seems like Mr. Peanutbutter always turns up, a visual reminder, a guard dog against any thoughts of doing wrong. 

It's easier to just not do anything wrong than to imagine that look on his friend's face. That disappointed look the first time he found a hidden bottle. The sad look when Bojack said he needed to feel numb, it was better than feeling sad and shitty. The awkward hug when he had started rocking and shaking, the sympathetic look then. 

Bojack shakes off the cobwebs, and keeps going, but little incidents like that keep happening, and Mr. Peanutbutter grows more concerned. 

* * *

A year passes. He decides one morning not to bother Mr. Peanutbutter for a ride to work, and take the bus...he's done that before. It's fine, he tells himself. It's _fine_. He repeats the thought over and over, even as he walks up and down the street looking for the bus stop. Did they take it down? No one's riding the bus anymore, maybe that's it. Whenever he gets on it's only ever half full. And he gets dirty looks, too, which he hates. 

He finally asks someone, and they point him further down the street, where he squints suspiciously at the transparent shelter and road sign. They seem different. Out of place. ( _Something is wrong_ , he thinks) 

He's late, but he says the bus was running late and they believe him. 

It scares him...but he doesn't tell anyone about it. It's probably just because he hasn't slept well. That's it. 

But it's when he gets home and writes "took the bus" on the little whiteboard on the fridge, made for such messages when one of them is out of the house, that he thinks something might be wrong. 

It's getting light out, he should be gone by now. 

"Are you going somewhere?" Mr. Peanutbutter asks. He's gotten home early from some gig or the other, who knows. He's getting hot chocolate from the cabinet. "You just got back from work!" 

"I was just going to work," Bojack starts, but wavers. He sinks into a chair at the table, shaking. "I was just going to work..." 

"Buddy...what's wrong?" 

"I don't know," Bojack is rocking now, and tears are threatening to show his weakness. "I don't know. I got lost looking for the bus stop. It wasn't where I thought it was. And just now--just now, I was...I thought it was before I went out to get the bus." 

The look Mr. Peanutbutter gives him then is--it makes him angry, it makes him frightened. 

"Buddy," he says gently, "I think we need to take you to the doctor." 

* * *

The doctor gives him the diagnosis with a grim look on his face and shows him a chart with ugly greens circled, with arrows pointing to them. Like bad Youtube clickbaity videos. 

"Early onset Alzheimer's disease," the doctor says, "Your mother died with the disease, I see, and my educated guess is that between that and your years of drug and alcohol abuse...well, it was a perfect storm." 

"How long do I have?" 

"It progresses differently for everyone. How long have you been having symptoms?" 

Mr. Peanutbutter answers for him, when he has trouble thinking about it. "At least a year. He's gotten lost going to the bus stop--and he's been going there for several years. A year ago he started--forgetting whole chunks of the day. We already told you about the...the issues about time of day. Mostly in the evening, around..." 

"Sunset?" 

"Yes. How did you know?" 

The doctor looks even grimmer. And doesn't answer. Or maybe he does, and Bojack just doesn't remember. When he thinks about the visit later, he won't either way. 

"I recommend you set up care as soon as possible, Mr. Horseman. Medical power of attorney, that sort of thing." 

He just nods. 

Mr. Peanutbutter is taking notes. 

Bojack doesn't like it. 

* * *

He signs a medical power of attorney document, granting Mr. Peanutbutter full rights to act in his interest. As annoying as the man is, he knows he won't do anything with the deliberate thought of harming him. 

It doesn't make him feel any better. No matter how much the man assures him he's there, that he'll take care of him. 

"You can trust me, buddy." 

There's something in Bojack's mind like paranoia, and he tries to shake it off, but it persists. 

Soon after he signs the document, Princess Carolyn comes by. 

"How are you holding up?" 

"Like shit," Bojack said, "I finally turn everything around and this is how my body repays me?" 

"Rome wasn't built in a day," she replies, "And you can't holding back a river with just a few sticks." 

"I know." He feels it in his chest. Oh, he knows. "How's Ralph?" 

He knows that's a mistake, but he can't remember the right name. The fear rises again. 

"No. No, not Ralph. It's...it's...a girl's name. R...it starts with an R." 

"Ruthie?" 

"Yes. Yes. That's it." 

That same look of concern crosses her face, too. He doesn't see Ruthie, but he remembers her name because of her attachment to Princess Carolyn. Like a flowchart in his head, pictures with names. Princess Carolyn, Judah, Ruthie, Ralph. Ralph should have a big red X through his portrait. Or he shouldn't be there at all. 

Ralph. 

Rallllph. 

It's such a strange word, he can't help but repeat it in his mind. 

* * *

He has to quit his job, but they seem to understand. He's scared, and suddenly Mr. Peanutbutter doesn't seem to want to let him leave the house alone either. He might wander off and get lost, and he doesn't want that to happen. 

I'm not a baby, he thought. I can go outside without wandering into traffic. When Mr. Peanutbutter is taking a bath, thinking Bojack is watching TV (there is someone there he doesn't like. A fat mouse he can't remember), he rebels. 

He heads for the door, high from the feeling of doing something forbidden. He doesn't care which way he goes, anywhere is better than in there. He doesn't like it in there, it's a prison, and he just got out of prison! 

He runs into a guy on the way out. His chin is covered in stubble and he's wearing some kind of knit hat. 

"The visitor's center isn't this way. I wasn't running. I swear I wasn't." 

"Bojack, calm down," the guy says, "Go back inside. What were you doing out here in such a hurry?" 

He blinks. Knit hat. Stubble. Clean up your shit. Clean up your shit. If he repeats it enough -- 

\-- 

\-- "Clean up your shit," he says automatically. "I don't know why I said that." 

That same look. Like they think he's an invalid. A baby. 

"It's me, Bojack. Todd. ...don't you remember me? I called yesterday and said I was coming over." 

He doesn't. He's trying, but he doesn't. This guy seems to know him, but he doesn't remember. 

"Let's go back inside." 

Mr. Peanutbutter comes out of the hallway wet, and rubbing his head with a towel. 

"He was outside," the guy named Todd says, "Like he was trying to go for a run." 

"I was not," Bojack replied, trying to think quickly, "I was looking at the grass. The girl he hired to cut the grass hasn't come this week. And it's looking awful. She ought to be fired." 

They _both_ look at him funny then. 

Todd talks to him about someone named Maude, says he got married and it was nice to have Bojack there at the wedding. He doesn't remember going but he nods like he does. That makes them happy. They seem happy when he talks about things. 

Like Sarah Lynn. She liked to talk about things, even when they nonsense. He asks for her, and the one with the knit cap starts to say something, but (dog...dog...Mr. Peanutbutter!) puts a hand up and shakes his head slowly. 

"She's busy," he says. 

"Did they send her to school?" 

That seems to shock them. They look at him with wide eyes. 

"Yes," said Mr. Peanutbutter slowly. "Bojack...we're..." 

"Stop looking at me like that. There's nothing _wrong_ with me. The doctors all seemed to think there was something wrong, but what did they know?" He sits a moment, and the anger seems to pass. "I'm sorry." 

* * *

"What's going on in your head?" Knit Cap asks. "When you get like this." 

Knit Cap comes by sometimes, when the nurse (when was there a nurse?) says it's alright. And he asks questions. Lots of questions. Questions he doesn't know about. 

"Everything floats," Bojack said, then automatically, a moment later, "We all float here. I try to grab it out of the air, but...but then it's not there. One second I can grab it. The next I can't. It's not like it wasn't there, it's like...it's like it never existed." 

Diane. 

Diane, that was the word. 

"Where is Diane?" The book. That's right, the book, they had a book to write. He hated writing, even if he wanted to about himself. But they wanted a book, so they'd get a book. Diane was supposed to do it for him. With him. He doesn't remember. 

There was a book in his hand. 

"She can't come today," Knit Cap says, "She said her plane was delayed." 

"But she lives here." 

Another look. He hates looks. They don't like him. 

* * *

...sometimes or the other, he sits down and sleeps and wakes up again. The walls are different...some of them change and move as he looks at them, like he's here and somewhere else all at once. 

I'M OKAY MOTHER 

There's a woman. Smiling. Face wrinkles when he talks. She doesn't like him. She makes him take a pill. 

...words drift across his mind, lots of words, words he doesn't know but he _must_ know them because why else are they there? 

Todd, Peanut butter, cat, cat, CAT. 

"That's okay, we can look at cats." 

Who talked? The screen blares and is loud. Suddenly there's babies on screen. On the screen. He doesn't know them. 

He tries to get up, but someone walks up and says he's not to get up, that he fell last time he tried. 

_I am not a baby_ , he thinks, the first clear thing he can manage since he can remember. However long that might be. But then the person feeds him with a spoon from some bowl of sludge. 

A baby. Maybe that is the word. 

"Hi, buddy!" 

He blinks and a yellow blur is in front of him. He squints, and there's another voice. 

"...stroke...take things slow..." 

But this yellow thing likes him, and nobody ever likes him, he knows that. Certain things in life you just KNOW, and that's one of the things. 

"Hi." 

The thing talks, and he nods, glad to hear another voice. It speaks of "Todd" and "Princess Carolyn" and "Diane" and he just keeps nodding because the thing must know that he doesn't remember those words but he is having a good time and it's rude to pretend you don't know what your guests are talking about. Even if you don't care what they have to say. You have to look like you know what they're talking about, even if you don't. Grandpa said that. 

"I brought you a Twinkie." 

The thing brought him food. Contraband. He's not supposed to have this. He wolfs it down as soon as he can. 

* * *

...faces... 

...one here and one there and one there and one there... 

...don't worry, I'll take care of you, buddy. You'll be okay...nothing like this will make a difference, you sleep, because it'll make you better...but will it make me better, he wonders? He sleeps and wakes and sleeps again and the faces keep coming back, until all they see is a blank stare and then there aren't faces and he looks up with eyes that don't know. 

........ 

........................ 

.............................. 

Light in his eyes... 

* * *

Beeping. He opens his eyes again and there are three faces. 

"Clean up your shit, Todd," he says suddenly. One of them jumps. 

"Bojack?" 

Todd wakes everyone else up and they all gather around the bed. 

"I brought a cake..." Mr. Peanutbutter says weakly, yawning. 

"Is it your birthday?" 

"It's yours," he said, "They didn't want you to have any but you're...dying...and I figured your 66th birthday should be special." 

"You eat the cake, you look...skinny..." 

He takes a deep breath. It hurts, and he doesn't know why. His arms don't want to move. 

"What happened to me?" 

"Cancer. A stroke," Mr. Peanutbutter says, "You...you don't have very long." 

He says some more, but Bojack doesn't hear half of it. 

"Thank you," he said suddenly. "All of you. I don't deserve all this." 

"You tried, before the end," Princess Carolyn said, "That's...what we really wanted to see. No one should die alone." 

"You should go home. Doesn't Ruthie need you right now?" 

"She's babysitting Grace. I wanted to see you before...the end." 

"Grace?" 

There's a soft, happy light in her eyes. Bojack smiles, because she is smiling too. 

"I thought I was going into menopause," she said, "Seven years ago." 

"I'm happy for you." 

And he is. His head is swimming, so he lays back. 

"Todd, you doing okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm doing okay." There's a weird laugh, kind of muffled. "Maude is redecorating our study." 

"Tell me all about it," he says. "I don't want to go out hearing about how the cancer got into my skull and tap danced on my brain." 

Someone is crying, but he keeps his eyes shut. As Maude is throwing out the oak desk so she can put in a shiny new one, and waxes and stains the thing, and... 

...he quietly slips away, only realizing at the last minute of consciousness that Mr. Peanutbutter was holding his hand.


End file.
